Shadows of Doubt
by Dedwyre
Summary: Scott Shadows, aka the Shadow Master, is one mean wrestler, not to mention human being. But, when a co-worker tests out a new witnessing technique, will Scott's world cave in?
1. Chapter 1

Scott Shadows was glad his mother didn't come to his matches.  
"Come on, Mother F***er, get up! Get up, you son of a b****! Come on,  
s***head, get up!"  
Shadow Master sent a concrete fist into the bloodied face of the man on the mat.   
He stomped the man's head down into the puddle of blood that had come for his  
forehead.   
"You think you're tough, huh? You think you're f***ing tough?! Answer me, f***er!"  
He stomped again. Then he added another punch, but this time with the microphone. He sent another and another into the man's head. Finally, a large security team stormed the ring and tried to restrain the Shadow Master. He caught a few of them with hard rights to their heads before he was overwhelmed and tackled down.  
As he was being dragged out of the arena, Shadow Master continued to spout swear words and threats into the microphone, until a guard tore it from his grip. He fought, kicking and screaming, but, somehow, he was pulled out of the audience's sight and into the back. A team of EMT's rushed the ring next, and tended to the barely conscious man in the middle, who, by now, looked to be drowning in a pool of red.  
  
"Local parents are becoming increasingly concerned with a nearby wrestling organization known as Intensity Rules Wrestling. Their fears were heightened by a large degree after last night's show here at the Thesz Memorial Theater. On that show, a wrestler called the Shadow Master beat up another wrestler called Blue. Now, while  
that is not an uncommon occurrence in professional wrestling, this particular beating resulted in multiple injuries for Blue, as well as many traumatized families."  
"Me and my son were watching TV one day, and we saw the ad for the wrestling show, and the ad said that the show would be a family show, I mean, it specifically said, in white letters, 'Family Night', so we thought we'd go and see it, and it certainly wasn't a  
family show. My boy had nightmares that night, and I called my lawyer, and he said that if I could get proof that the thing said 'Family Night,' then I'd have a case."  
"However, the IRW denies that it's commercial said anything of the sort. They also say that they're willing to settle Thompson's case out of court..."  
Titus Stewart switched the television off and turned to look at Scott Shadows. Both were grinning.  
"Scott," Titus said, "what would we do without the media?"  
"We'd probably bug the saints," Scott said between swigs of beer.  
"I think we do that, too," Titus replied. "But nobody listens to them." They both laughed as Titus sat down behind his desk. "Nice work Saturday, Scott."  
"What's the plan for next week?" Scott finished his beer and shook the bottle, holding the long neck at the top and moving the wider bottom  
"Same old, same old," Titus yawned sarcastically. "It's the week after that things get good."  
"Yeah?"  
"Oh, yeah. But let me give you the backstory first."  
"Shoot," Scott said. He meant it as an invitation, and Titus obliged.  
"Chris Parseles."  
Short Pause.  
"What about him?"  
"In a minute. You know Marty Thriller?"  
"One of the biggest names on the indy circuit. Above me, even."  
"Well, I'm about to do the impossible. I'm on the verge of having Marty sign a contract for IRW."  
"You're kidding. That guy won't sign unless he knows big things'll come out of it."  
"Exactly. And he knows that Intensity Rules will be the next fed on TV. The fans love our sick action, the T & A, the swearing, the anarchy. They want to be like us. And every wrestling magazine out there knows we're going to be the next to sign with a network, or better."  
"Better?"  
"Our violence doesn't gel well with cable. But it will. I'll make it happen. Until then, we're almost on premium TV as I speak."  
"How did you manage to find a premium station?"  
"I'll keep my business decisions to myself, Scott. Now, back to Marty. He knows we're the next big thing. He knows he can make 'mucho grande,'" he rubbed his fingers together, making the sign for money, "by taking his hardcore style to our ring. Ironic that I just spoke some Spanish, because that's the only problem."  
"What is?"  
"Our Hispanic friend, Christopher Parceles. You see, Scott, Marty isn't one to let bygones be bygones. He's the type of person who holds a grudge. For a while. And this grudge just happens to be with young Christopher."  
"No kidding," Scott repeated himself. He pointed to Titus' mini-bar. "May I?"  
"What's mine is yours."  
Scott went to the bar and got another drink. He used a can opener to remove the lid as he continued. "So, what did Chris do to Marty that would keep him from signing a contract with us? Marty always seems like a calm little guy. I'd think he was some sort of wetback. Oh, wait...he is."  
"Apparently, he wasn't always 'a calm little guy.' A few years ago, according to Marty, he and Chris went drinking. Chris got stoned, and Marty tried to get him to hand over the keys. But Chris was to dumb to think, and he did the driving. They had a little accident. Marty dislocated a shoulder and sprained his ankle. Chris was unscathed."  
"So, he's mad that Chris got him busted up? He healed, right?"  
"Of course. But not for a while. And, it just so happened that ECW had contacted Marty the day before. They had a spot. Marty would have taken it. But he was too injured. And Paul E., who had no time to waste with talent he hadn't signed, got someone else."  
"I see. Marty lost his spot in one of the so-called "Big Name" feds because of Chris?"  
"Right. And now, he won't sign with us unless Chris is gone."  
"Fire him."  
"Can't. He has a contract with me. But I need Marty."  
"Wait, wait. What does all this have to do with the show in two weeks?"  
"That's where you come in. I was smart enough, a few years ago, to put a little escape clause for myself in Chris' contract. If he becomes so injured that he can't compete for more than a month, he's out. I put that in there because I wanted some discipline for a guy I thought would injure easily. Now it works even more in my favor." Titus opened his desk drawer, took out a pencil, set it on the table, and went to fix himself a drink.   
"What I want you to do," he continued, " is help me put that clause into action. We start with next week. You go out and beat whoever I decide should be put in front of you. After the match, you call out Chris. Say something insulting. His mother died about a year ago, use that."  
"Gotcha," Scott said. He took a large swig as Titus sat back down and picked up the pencil.  
"Chris'll run out, and you guys brawl until security takes you apart. Now, we move to two weeks away. You fight Chris in this match with no rules. Let Chris get some good spots. We have to give him some credit, he's a good flyer. But, in the end, you win. After that, you take a char, wrap it around his leg, and...," he snapped the pencil in two.  
"Ouch," Scott replied, unemotionally. "How'm I gonna explain that to him?"  
"Pretend it was an accident. He's so gullible, he'll believe you. I'll vouch. Slip-ups happen in this business all the time. After his leg's gone, he'll be in the hospital for a pretty long time. Long enough for the clause to go into effect. With him gone, the  
door's open for Marty Thriller, and my company'll be the next in the 'big 2.' Think you're up to the task?"  
"You're asking the bird to fly. Injuring people is what I do best."  
"I knew I could count on you, Scotty."  
  
Six days later...IRW Extreme Asylum show.  
Scott Shadows arrived at the arena a few hours before showtime. It was as few hours earlier than he normally showed up, but, today, he had some business to take care of. He took his bag out of the trunk and headed to the back entrance, noticing all the fans standing around the fence in front. They were already lining up to get in. Titus was right; IRW was the next big thing. And it would be Scott's job to keep it that way. Scott smirked, mostly to himself. He felt no remorse for what he had to do. In fact, he looked forward to it. His mind reran he and Titus' discussion. He especially liked the part where Titus had substituted the pencil for poor Chris' leg. It wouldn't be much harder than that; at lest, not for Scott.  
As he approached the back entrance, Scott was surprised to see the bar of the door move away from his hand as he reached out. The blue metal pulled away, revealing a dark-skinned woman wearing sweatpants, a one-size-too-big T-shirt, and a denim jacket standing in the entrance. Her eyes widened quickly and she jerked back a little at the surprise of seeing someone in front of her.  
"Oh, Scott," she laughed. "You scared me. You aren't usually at the building this early."  
"Yeah, I know," Scott said, pushing past her and into the hallway. He turned to face her again, and she did likewise. "Got some stuff to do. What are you up to, Val?"  
Valerie Said glanced outside, then pointed to the parking lot. "I was just going to go out, get some fresh air, and greet the people. They're here pretty early, too...might as well make it worth their while."  
"What, you mean, like, sign autographs?"  
"Sure, why not?"  
"Titus hates it when we give free autographs."  
"Oh, Titus is too uptight about money. A few John Hancocks won't make us lose money. If anything, it'll probably make the fans come back again!"  
"Whatever you say," Scott replied. "Just be back before bell time."  
Val laughed. "Yeah, okay, Dad." She waved to Scott as she walked out the door. Scott stared at her until the door closed. Specifically, he stared at a couple little features he saw from behind. He thought to himself, Man, what I wouldn't give...  
After his perverted fantasies ceased, Scott about-faced and headed toward the locker rooms. After finding them, Scott had just enough time to open up his bag and put his things in a locker before none other than Chris Parceles appeared in the doorway, carrying a bag of his own.  
"Hey, Scott!" he said, just as surprised as Val had been. "You're here already?"  
"Nah, just a cardboard cutout," Scott replied, as unemotional as possible.  
"Heh...funny," Chris didn't realize that Scott was humoring him. "Anyway, we got a thing tonight, don't we? Like, an angle, you know?"  
"Yeah, I know what a 'thing' is." Scott felt annoyed by Chris' appearance, despite the fact that he'd come early just to meet with him.  
"Right...how's it supposed to go again? Boss Titus didn't give me all the details, really."  
Scott paused to grumble to himself, then began to gather the things he'd need for the night. "I've got a match. Right after that match, I'll get on the mic and call you out. You don't come right away, so I start to insult you. I'll say you're an illegal immigrant, and how I'm glad you mother is dead, so she won't have to see her son get beaten up, stuff like that."  
"Oh...gee," Chris made his way over to a locker about halfway down the line from Scott's. "Do we have to use my Mom in this? I mean...it's kind of disrespectful, you know?"  
"Well, it gets me big heat, and it gives you a good reason to come out and attack me. You got to make some sacrifices in this business, Chris."  
"Yeah, I guess so...okay." Chris didn't sound too enthusiastic.  
"So, after that, you run in and we start fighting, but security takes us apart. Then, Malone comes out and makes a match between us for next week. They start to drag me away, and I start saying more insults and sh*t, and I make it a hardcore match. You agree, and I get pulled to the back like last week. That's what Titus wants."  
"All right, that sounds like a good angle. And we have the match at next week's show, which is, like, not too far from here, really?"  
"Right...think you can handle that?"  
"No problemo, mi amigo. Any ideas for the match next week?"  
"Actually, I was going to let you come up with some spots. I do get to win, though, just so you know."  
"Really? Wow, so this is, like, going to be a long...you know, battle between us?"  
"Oh yeah. Big and long. Titus says he thinks you're going places."  
"He does?" Chris took that lie as if it were a headline story.  
"Oh, definitely. Anyways, I'm going to go over and get suited up."  
"All right, man. I'll catch you later."  
Or vice versa, Scott thought.  
  
The fans came to their feet as they saw Emerald climb to the top rope. She'd just been knocked from the ring apron into the guardrail by the six foot, seven inch "Buffalo" Brandon Knox, who'd decided to take a break from his choking of Jared Sphinx to brutalize Sphinx's valet. As with anyone who'd had pro wrestling training, Emerald wouldn't let it rest. She ascended the turnbuckle when Knox wasn't looking. Knox picked Sphinx up from the ground and gave him a hard shove that sent him into the corner opposite Emerald. Knox sent a few quick boots into Sphinx's gut, then prepared to whip him into the other corner.  
Desperately, Sphinx reversed the Irish Whip, sending Knox towards the corner, and right into a big flipping neckbreaker from Emerald. For her deed, Emerald was given a large round of applause as she slid from the ring. Knox held his head and staggered to his feet. Sphinx kicked his opponent in the stomach and hit a swift single-armed DDT, then rolled him over and got the three count, and a huge crown pop. Sphinx and Emerald celebrated in the ring for a few seconds before exiting to the back.  
Just as they got past the curtain, Valerie and Jared separated. Valerie spotted Scott standing by a TV monitor that was set up on a table for the benefit of the guys in the back. A few facility workers watched it, too. The announcer was on and ready to introduce the next match. Scott turned to see Val as she approached.  
"Hey," she said, "what'd you think?"  
"Think of what?"  
"Of the match!"  
"Oh, that...yeah, it was pretty good. I'll admit, I've never seen a chick do a move like that before."  
"I know. I swiped it from Buff Bagwell. He won't mind; I'm not the first. Still, I think it was a pretty good spot. I can't believe I actually caught him while he was running! And he sold it so well. You know, if he'd wanted to, he could've just kept going and totally screwed my move up, but he went with it.  
"You're awfully modest," Scott noted.  
"Your point being?"  
"No point. Just mentioning. I don't hear too many of the others talk like that."  
"Well, you just don't listen. Besides, I can't be too full of pride. 'Pride goeth before destruction.' Proverbs 16:18. Not that I need to remind anyone."  
"Remind any one of what?" Scott questioned, trying to call her bluff.  
Valerie sighed. "Of that verse. Don't you ever read a Bible?"  
"Nah. What do I want with a bunch of old scribbles done by some old "supreme being" who won't show his face to anyone?" Valerie paused. Scott thought he'd gotten her with that remark. However, she kept the conversation going, making Scott realize that she was serious on the subject.  
"Well, first of all, it wasn't written by a "supreme being," it was written by men on Earth who received their inspiration from the "supreme being." Like the four apostles who wrote the first books of the New Testament. They weren't gods, just four guys like you or me. Well, maybe you."  
"Uh-huh, and you actually believe that stuff?"  
"With every ounce of my soul."  
"Great, a Bible pusher. All right, if it's all true, where's the proof, huh?"  
"Right here," Valerie replied, pointing to the right side of her chest, where her heart would be if it weren't for her skin, muscle, and bone.  
"Yeah, yeah, I've heard all about 'blind faith' and junk. But I mean real, hard copy proof." By now, the workers who'd been standing around the TV monitor had left to find another. They were sick of listening to two weirdo wrestlers arguing. That didn't stop Valerie.  
"Okay, you want 'real' proof? Archeologists around the world have discovered many of the places where biblical events took place. Calvary, Jesus' tomb, stuff like that."  
"Yeah? Well, maybe the Bible was written after all those places exhisted, and someone just told everyone it was true. I wasn't alive back then; how can I tell?"  
"The Dead Sea Scrolls weren't just made by some nut and buried underground for someone to find!"  
"What if he was a clever guy?"  
Valeire sighed again. "Okay, look. You really want some proof? I don't have it with me now, but come over to my apartment right after the show tonight. Here's the address..." Valerie grabbed a pen that she saw sitting on the table frantically looked around for something to write on.  
"Just tell it to me. I've got a good memory."  
Valerie told him the address of her apartment. "If you really want some evidence that maybe a God is out there, go there afterwards. I'm on the third floor, number 212." With that, Valerie turned to leave. She stopped, though, and turned back to look Scott in the eyes. "Oh, by the way...it's not 'blind faith.' You need to open your eyes...and you heart." After that, Val walked away to the locker room.   
Scott blew the comment off with a "pfft" sound. He almost jumped out of his wrestling boots when a hand grabbed his shoulder as he turned back to the monitor. It was Stan Morelli, "the Hardhat Kid," his opponent for the night. "Hey, it's almost time," he said. Scott saw the announcer on the monitor begin to announce the next match. Scott was surprised that the last match had ended during his conversation. He grabbed his mask from his jeans' pocket and headed towards the curtain.  
  
The Shadow Master beat the Hardhat Kid with a huge shoulderbreaker, just after he'd sent his right shoulder under the top turnbuckle and straight into the ring post. After the match, Scott kicked the Kid until he rolled out under the bottom rope, and the referee helped him to the back. Scott thought under the mask, I wonder if the guys are getting scared of my stiffness? He was hoping the answer was "yes." He loved to intimidate people. It's what he'd been trying to do to Valerie, but it hadn't worked. She'd actually invited him to her house. He ruled out bringing date-rape drugs, just because he wanted to keep his job.  
The Shadow Master got the microphone from the ring announcer, and began his tirade. "Now that I've plowed through one lame-*ss freak, there's another lame-*ss in the back that I got some beef with. If you're listening to me, Chris Parceles, get your scrawny little butt out here right now, so I can tear you a new one!"  
Everyone's eyes were on the entrance curtain. No one was there. A few fans started chanting, "Chris, Chris," but still no sign of life.  
"Oh, I see how it is. Yeah, you must be back there moping and whining over that dead mother of yours!" The audience fell silent, surprised at the cruel remark. Shadow Master looked over the crowd, and said, "Oh, gee, did I hit a nerve with you people? Good. You can all suffer just as much as the S***head Kid for all I care!" The fans now were booing the man in the ring, and more people started to chant Chris' name. Still, no sign of him.  
"Well, you little wetback, you'd better stop you crying, because you'll need it all saved up for when I come back there. And, hey, thank you lucky stars that your mama's dead, because I'm sure she wouldn't want to be alive to see her son get the a** whooping I'm about to give you!"  
Like a shot, the fans began to cheer at the tops of their lungs when Chris Parceles suddenly rushed through the curtain and sprinted to the ring. "Kick his a**," was the new chant that the crowd had started. Chris slid into the ring, and he and the Shadow Master began trading blows. They pounded on each other until Shadow went low on his smaller foe. He sent a double ax handle to the man's back, then stomped him down all the way.  
After this, the Shadow Master turned to the ropes and yelled at the ring announcer to throw him a chair. Out of fear, the announcer obliged. Shadow caught the chair, but turned around only to get it driven into his face by a Parceles jumping side kick. The shot sent the Shadow Master outside the ring and onto the thin black mats.  
Under the mask, Scott Shadows was becoming enraged. They hadn't planned that spot. He was about ready to get back in the ring and fulfill his plan for next week right away, when three security personnel jumped him and began to drag him around the ring and to the back. Scott tried to keep his cool, remembering that Chris would pay the next week.  
The Shadow Master kicked and fought, but two more guards came to lend a hand. Perfectly on cue, IRW Commissioner Malone Frenzie strode down the aisle, past the four guards and one wrestler, and climbed the stairs into the ring. She had a microphone with her, and used it.  
"Shadow Master, you want to make it your business to start fights? No way, pal, that's MY job!" Half of the crowd cheered. "So, if you want it so badly, then you've got it, next week. You versus Chris, next week at the Grand Theater!" The whole audience cheered and applauded that announcement.  
Scott realized that he didn't have his microphone with him, so he just yelled at the top of his lungs, "I want it Hardcore rules! You want to make my matches, you make them my way! I don't want it to end until someone gives!"  
"You want hardcore?" the commissioner replied. She glanced at Chris, then looked back at the tangled mass of people holding the Shadow Master down. "You've got it!" The crowd erupted. Just as with the week before, security dragged the Shadow Master back through the curtain and out of sight.  
  
Scott checked the clock in his car. 11:35. It felt later, but that's just because he'd been exercising. He headed down the road, checking his memory for Val's address. He found the apartment and parked in a visitor space. He rang up to Val's room and got the clearance he needed to go up.  
Scott stopped in front of the door. He prepared his mind for the inevitable lecture of why the Bible's true. He expected Val to have stuff from books or the internet, papers that pronounced findings of things from the Bible in today's world. He'd told himself that he'd wave them off, as he thought they'd have no more reliability than a supermarket tabloid that said, "NOAH'S ARK FOUND IN THE GRAND CANYON."  
Scott knocked. "Come in," was Val's immediate response. Scott opened the door and walked into the room. It wasn't bad. A picture on the wall of Val and some family. Under that, a sofa. Across from that, an adequate-sized TV set on a small dresser. There was a rocking chair, a regular wooden chair with cushions on the seat and back, and a couple lamps strategically placed around the room. Val came out of a room in the small hallway across from Scott. She had a white nightgown on, in place of the green wrestling gear she'd worn earlier.  
"You came," she said, smiling. "Thanks."  
"No problem," Scott replied. "Now, are you ready to dazzle me with this proof of God that you supposedly possess?"  
Valerie crossed the room and locked the door. She took Scott by the shoulder and directed him over to the sofa. "Have a seat," she said. "Believe me, you'll need it."  
Scott made himself comfortable. He was about to ask if Val had any beer, but decided it would just be a waste of breath. Val moved the wooden chair to face Scott a few feet in front of him. She took a seat in it, then leaned forward, resting her arms in her lap.  
"All right, so, where is it?" Scott asked. "Where's this document that claims God exists, and the Bible is fact?"  
"Who said anything about a document?" Val countered. "I promised you evidence that God MAY exist. No one has any photographs of Jesus or anyone who lived at the time. There's no letter of Jesus' confession to be God in the flesh. If there was, there'd be no point in anyone having faith. It would rule it out, and we wouldn't be here talking about it. What I can tell you, though, is that studies have shown the Bible to be somewhere around 95% accurate. Truthfully, though, I don't have any documents that state that, either."  
"I see...so, are you saying that you give up? Did you come home, think about it, and decide that I was right?"  
"Absolutely not. I can feel God inside me. Anyone who knows Him can. You never hear anyone say that they can feel Buddha, or Ghandi, or any of those great leaders. But millions of people can feel Jesus in their hearts."  
"Right, right, and my neighbor's cat can feel itself getting kicked in the ribs, but I can't, so what's your point."  
"My point, Scott, is that God is supernatural. And you can't always see the supernatural, even when they're right in front of you."  
"Great, just great. You bring me over here to tell me stories about mythical creatures, now, too?"  
Val stood. "Scott, look at me." She held her arms out at her sides and rotated all the way around, still staying in one spot. "Do I look like a normal person? No jokes."  
"Yeah. Yeah, you look like a normal human nutcase."  
"Well...that shows what you know..."  
Then, the strangest thing Scott had ever seen happened. Valerie Said got down on her hands and knees. Scott watched her, contemplating the reason why, yet still maintaining a lustful fantasy. That fantasy shattered, however, as did his reasoning, when Scott noticed that Val's skin was getting darker right before his eyes. Her head was facing down, and her long black hair hung towards the floor. Valerie's skin was changing to match the shade of that hair. No...her skin was growing more hair!  
Scott's mind went blank. All he could do was watch. Val's body seemed to be growing, gaining mass. Either that, or her nightgown was shrinking. Scott saw two long, pointed ears rise from under Val's hair. He heard a growl. Valerie arched her back, and her gown tore and fell away, revealing a large, muscular, inhuman frame.  
The being in front of Scott wasn't God. At least, he didn't think it was. But it certainly didn't look like Valerie Said, professional wrestler. It looked a bit more...canine. Just as that thought crossed Scott's mine, "Val" looked up at him. Her face was canine, all right. It had the long snout, the fur, the fangs...the works.  
Scott laughed. The last emotion a normal human being would have during a moment like this would probably be joy. But Scott laughed. "Oh, man," he said. "Oh man, this isn't happening. This is some sort of dream...this is an act...G** D*** IT, this is not f***ing happening..."  
The beast on the carpet at Scott's feet growled, as if in protest. Scott's laughter stopped, and he hopped up on the couch, sitting on his legs. He wanted to say something for some reason, but words escaped him. He just gazed into the eyes of a creature that, just moments ago, hadn't been what it was now. That stare was returned in kind.  
The last time Scott had looked at a clock, it was 11:35. It was now 12:08 AM, and Scott still couldn't figure out how long he and "Val" had been staring at each other before "she" picked the torn nightgown up in her jowls and disappeared into the hallway. Scott stared at the entrance to the hallway, awaiting to see what would emerge.  
After a while, it was Valerie, human, in the flesh, wearing yet another nightgown, this one blue. She fixed her hair as she came into view. Scott never noticed that he was breathing heavier than he had earlier in the day, after his wrestling match.  
"Calm down, Tiger," Valerie said. "Don't go fainting on me. If you did, then you wouldn't remember the lesson you've just received." She was smiling, and she sat down on the couch next to Scott. He realized that she had a Bible with her. She opened it and read. "...because you have seen me, you have believed: blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed." John 20:29. Well, Scott, you didn't see God today. But you did see something that you knew could never exist. And now that you have, maybe you'll open that lock-box you call a mind. I pray you will."  
Scott looked her in the eyes. Sincere eyes, yet they were also the same eyes he'd seen on the animal. He didn't say a word. His pride defense system had been breached, and he was nothing but a confused and frightened man.  
"If you're too shaken up, you can sleep here tonight. Sleeping it off should help. I'll get you some sheets and a blanket." Scott didn't object. Val disappeared into the hall, and reappeared again soon, carrying two sheets and a heavy blanket. She set them out for Scott. "Well, I'm going to bed. It's been a long day for me. Sweet dreams." 


	2. Chapter 2

Scott woke up later in the morning (he hadn't fallen asleep until after 1:00) on the couch, still wearing his street clothes that he'd changed into after last night's show. Say, speaking of changing...no, that had to have been a dream...but, then, why was he on Valerie Said's couch, in her apartment? Had he just fallen asleep in the middle of a discussion, and then dreamt the whole ordeal that was replaying itself in his mind just now?  
He had awoken because of the loud sound that metal makes when it hits a hard floor. Scott sat straight up, and found himself facing a small kitchen. It didn't have carpet, making the sound of the pan louder. Val reached down and picked it up, then set it on top of the oven. She'd knocked it off as she was getting a glass of milk.  
Val turned to see that Scott was up. She smiled. "Hey, sleepy," she said, walking over to him and sitting in the wooden chair. It hadn't moved. "How're you feeling this morning?"  
Scott was still collecting his thoughts. "I...I think I'm okay..." he managed.  
"You think you're okay? Hmmm...we'll have to work on that. But first...do you remember what happened last night?"  
"I think so...I wrestled a match...I did an angle...I came over to your place...and I saw something that I still can't believe"  
"Can't believe, huh? Need me to show you again?"  
"NO!" Scott exclaimed, suddenly widening his eyes and looking straight into Val's face. He calmed down a moment later. "No...uh, that won't be necessary...I think I saw all I needed."  
"Ah, all you needed, good...all you needed to do what?"  
Scott didn't reply to that question, but instead asked his own. "Val...what happened last night?"  
"I guess I do need to jog your memory. That's okay. I understand. Last night, we got in a little argument about the Bible being fact or fiction. You asked for proof. I couldn't give it to you at the arena, so I invited you to come to my apartment after the show. You came over, and you were expecting me to show you a book or something that said why God is real. That's what you were expecting, right?"  
"Uh...yeah."  
"I told you that I could feel God, and I didn't need to see Him to know that He exists. I told you that no other group of people can tell you that about their gods. That argument didn't help. I told you I'd have proof of the possibility of there being a supreme being. I said that God is supernatural. You waved that idea off again. So, I changed. It was risky, let me tell you. I was scared. I was probably more afraid of you than you were of me. But I did it anyway, because I needed to open your mind."  
"Oh, man..." Scott said, holding his head. "So it was real."  
"Yes. I'm none other than a myth come true. I'm a werewolf. Well, actually, a were-jackal. We didn't have too many wolves in Egypt, where I was born."  
"You're Egyptian?"  
"Yep."  
"You're a werewolf?"  
"Pretty much."  
"I need a drink."  
"I don't have any beer, or anything like that..."  
"No, no, just some water, or something...Good Lord..."  
Val walked to the kitchen and got Scott a glass of tap water. "Ah, I see we're opening our mind a little, hmm?"  
"Say what?"  
Val went back into the living room and handed Scott the water. He inhaled it. "You said, 'Good Lord.' You can't say that the Lord is good, without believing in Him first."  
Scott set the glass on the carpet. "So, that was your proof? You...changed into something, and it was supposed to open my mind to God? What if it backfired, and I opened my mind to...I don't know, some Hindu god? What then?"  
"That's a risk I was willing to take. I prayed about it before you came. I knew I had to try. Now that you're awake, and you can tell what's going on around you, It's time for the next piece of the puzzle." Valerie walked over to her TV set. Scott hadn't noticed before, but it had a red binder on top of it. Val retrieved the binder and went back to her chair. She opened it, revealing that it was actually a photo album. Scott leaned over to see.  
"This is me when I was a baby," Val said, pointing to the first photograph. "I was born in Cairo. My family and I were part of a minority group in Egypt, the Copts. Copts are Egyptian Christians. I was baptized when I was one year old." She pointed to a photo of her as a toddler. "When I was five, we moved to America." She turned the page and pointed out a shot of her and her parents on a boat. "I'm not exactly sure as to why. It might have been because of prejudice against us. Or maybe my dad just found a better job overseas. I forget. But, anyway, we moved to Virginia, and I started school in America.  
"Life went well when I was young. No extreme racial discrimination, no hate crimes. The only problem was that we moved a lot." Val showed off photos of her in front of various apartment buildings. "I changed schools, like, once a year. I never really kept any friends when I was little. Luckily, we stayed put when we got to Missouri. I made it from eighth grade all the way to college in this state. And I made-and kept-friends.  
"We always attended church." She pointed to a photo of a church. "This one was in St. Joseph. And, of course, I got stuck in the common mindset for someone my age: I thought that, if I attended church every Sunday, and I lived by good morals, then I had my ticket to heaven. I started attending church youth group under the same philosophy." Now she showed Scott a few pictures of her as a teenager many other kids her age. "It wasn't until my junior year in high school that I decided to truly live for God.  
"It wasn't a glamorous point in my life. I was riding the city bus home from a shopping trip with a few friends. It was a little late. I was standing up front talking to the bus driver, making sure we stopped at a close enough place to my house. Just then, we were hit by a drunk driver who was trying to escape a police car. He swerved and rammed into the side of the bus. The bus driver tried to steer back onto the road as we fell, but that just made the bus go head first. It wasn't a really deep ditch, but we went careening into it anyway. Fortunately, no one was killed. Unfortunately, I ended up going through the windshield."  
"No way."  
"You'd have to see it to really believe it, but it's true. I was the worst of the injured on the bus that night, thankfully. I got a concussion, and I landed bad enough that I was paralyzed from the neck down. I was unconscious until later at the hospital." Val showed Scott a few pictures of her in the ICU.   
"Believe me, when you wake up, and you can't move, and you can't feel you body, it's a scary moment. The doctors told me they were going to do some surgery, try and help fight the paralysis. It was risky stuff. No one knew if I could make it. If it didn't work, I'd be paralyzed for life, or dead."  
"I'd take the latter."  
"Anyway, before they did the surgery, my whole youth group showed up in the hospital. I'd had no idea that they really cared about me. I hardly knew if they'd ever noticed me. But they all laid their hands on me and prayed that the surgery would do it's thing. It really made me think. All these people my own age, taking time from their schedules and lives to pray for me!  
"So, they did the surgery. And it worked! Soon, I began to feel my legs and arms. Soon after that, I could sit up. The doctors had worried that I could've been paralyzed for life, but, in about a month and a half, you wouldn't even know I'd ever been in an accident!"  
"You're kidding?"  
"Nope. And it was then that I realized that the Lord had blessed me. He had a plan for me, and I couldn't fulfill it by being a vegetable in a hospital bed. I gave my life to Him, and now He guides me. He even guided me to witnessing to you, Scott."  
"Is that so?"  
"I prayed about it before you came. I prayed that I could at least I could use my abilities to help open your eyes-and your heart-to other things."  
"Well....you certainly did that...I don't even know what to believe anymore."  
"Good. That's the first step." She set her photo album down and picked a Bible up from the floor. "Now, why don't I get you something to eat, and then you can listen while I tell you a little story about someone that was more than just a man..."  
  
Valerie shared the Gospel with Scott that morning. Scott listened. For once in his life, he decided to listen. And, to his extreme surprise, he felt very moved by what he heard. Could this be true? Val said it was passed down for hundreds of years. It was translated from Hebrew and old Greek. What made it any more unbelievable than a history book...he'd never seen George Washington cross the Delaware, but he believed that to be true...  
"I hope I've taught you something, Scott," Val said, after a brief description of what she'd just read. "I know it's gotta be hard, learning something new after all the confusion you've seen in the past hours."  
"Yeah...well..." Scot didn't know what to say. It had been confusing, going from one thing to the next so quickly. He still held on to his pride, and he didn't want to admit any change. He didn't want to be proven wrong. But there was a change. He knew he wasn't the same since last night, when Val had suddenly transformed right in front of him.  
"I've done my best to help. If you want to hang around here, I won't stop you. But, if you'd like to get back to your place..."  
"Yeah...that's what I want to do," Scott stood for the first time that morning. "My head's just full of everything you could imagine now...I need to get back to my place...do some peaceful thinking, you know?"  
"I understand. Good-bye, Scott. I'll be praying for you."  
"Yeah..." And with that, he left.  
  
Scott Shadows got back to his own apartment and fell onto his own couch. He led his head and moaned. Despite the fact that he'd actually gotten some sleep during his time at Val's, it still felt as if everything had happened so fast. Val had opened his mind. Maybe there was something out there. Who's to say that there wasn't? Certainly not him.  
Scott sat for what seemed to him like forever, thinking about the Gospel Val had shared with him, and her testimony, and how they just seemed so real all of a sudden. He thought about the face of the beast he'd seen, and how he'd almost wet himself. That reminded him that he had to use the restroom.  
After relieving himself, Scott went to his refrigerator. He pulled a bottle of beer out of a six-pack and opened it with his bottle opener/key chain. Then, he leaned against the counter and took a quick drink. He swished the liquid around in his mouth, then swallowed. What was so great about this stuff, anyways? He'd been drinking it, as well as similar alcoholic beverages, since before college. But he found himself questioning that habit. What made it such a coveted thing for him? The taste? Couldn't be. Beer didn't taste so great. It was the buzz he got from drinking multiple bottles or cans.  
But what was so great about getting your mind messed up? Defiance? Anarchy? His mind was already messed up now, but he wasn't defying anyone. Scott took a long, hard look at the bottle. He shook it, watching the beer splash around. Then, he turned to the sink and drained the bottle. It took some strength to do that. But he did. Then, he snatched the other five bottles from the fridge and emptied them. Then, he tossed the leftover glass into his garbage can.  
Now Scott was feeling something. Something different from the buzz he'd used to get from the alcohol. He felt...cleaner. He felt like he'd just fulfilled a longtime goal. He suddenly had another thought cross his mind. He methodically walked into his bedroom and opened the drawer at the bottom of his dresser. Inside, he found all the PLAYBOY, PENTHOUSE, and other magazines he'd collected over the years. He'd always found pleasure with the pictures in these magazines. Something in him still did.   
But something else was driving him now. He reached over and grabbed his room's trash bucket, and began to pile all the magazines into it. As he did so, he began thinking...This is an experiment. This will help me to decide if Val was telling the truth. I'll go and toss these in that dumpster out back. I'll do what Val suggested earlier. I'll pray to this God. I'll see if He answers me. If I don't get anything out of it, I'll go out and buy more of these. And more beer. I'll live as if nothing happened between me and Val. But, if it works the way Val said...  
After Scott returned from the dumpster, he sat on his couch, leaning over his lap, hand folded. He hesitated for a few minutes, but, finally brought himself to it.  
"God," he began, "if you're out there...if you exist...I've got something I think you want. Valerie says you want me. She told me that God loves everyone, and He rejoices over every soul that is saved through His grace. Well, I want to see that grace. I'm here, I'm in the best point of my life. I've got money, I've got a job, I'm famous. But, I don't have You. I want to see what this is like. I want to feel You, I want to know You. I want You to change my life. I really mean it. I wouldn't have thrown all that stuff out if I didn't. I want to accept you...yeah, that's it, I want to accept you into my life, so that You can take what you did for Val and use it for me. I'm lost. I'm confused. Now's Your best chance. Take me while you can. In God's name I sincerely pray...Amen."  
Scott was surprised he'd meant that. But he had. Now, he sat back into the couch. He stared at the wall. A picture of his family. Him, his Mom, his dad. They were smiling. He was faking it. They were all dressed up. Scott remembered not wanting to take that photo, but he'd ended up complying.  
Look at them, he thought. They really loved me. They still love me. They gave me everything. They wanted me to succeed, and I did. But I never had any gratitude. And they still love me, no matter what. Like...God. Scott continued to stare ahead.  
  
Valerie Said was sitting in her living room, watching the news channel, when her phone suddenly rang. She went over to the jack on the kitchen wall and picked up the receiver, then put it to her ear and said, "Hello?"  
"Val?"  
"Yes, that's me. Who's this?"  
"It's Scott."  
"Oh, Scott! Sorry, I didn't recognize your voice."  
"It's okay. Everything's okay."  
"Everything, huh?"  
"I did what you said, and then some. I threw out all my magazines, and I dumped all my beer. Then, I found that guy you've been telling me about. You remember? God."  
"Seriously?"  
"Never been more serious in my life. And it feels great."  
"That's amazing, Scott! I mean, it's great that you found God. I just...didn't expect it to happen this soon, really. No offense or anything..."  
"None taken. I was stubborn and ignorant until last night. Have you ever used that little trick on anyone else?"  
"No. You're contestant number one."  
"Well...it was a good strategy. When you changed right in front of me, my world came crashing down. I had no idea what was right. It was like a clean slate, or something. And you wrote the right things on that slate."  
"Scott, I am so proud of you, seriously! I can't believe it all came together."  
"We need to celebrate. God is, right?"  
"That's what the Bible says."  
"Then let's you and me go get some lunch. My treat."  
"Where do I meet you?"  
  
Spunky's Bar and Grill, right at the corner of 8th and Chasuble, was where Scott met Val. They got a booth and made themselves comfortable. The waiter gave them two glasses of water, took their drink orders, then left them to think about what they wanted to eat. Scott started the conversation, not with something about God, but with a little story about Titus and himself.  
"You're kidding?" Val gasped.  
"Nope. That's just how it went."  
"I can't believe he wants you to do something like that! That's disgusting!"  
"I know, and I actually said yes."  
"Don't blame yourself. You weren't the same person that you are today. It's Titus' fault."  
"I just don't know what I'm going to do about it."  
"Call him up and tell him you won't do it!"  
"I can't. I know Titus. It's not that easy..."  
The waiter returned and took their orders. Scott continued when he left again.  
"If I were to call him and tell him that I refuse to break Chris' leg and send him packing, then he'd let the whole wrestling world know that I am unreliable. He's a pretty powerful guy. Heck, he'll get others to vouch for him. I'll end up like Balls Mahoney on the East coast. No one'll want me. The only work I'll find is in IRW, and Titus'll make it miserable. I'll be totally off the map. Believe me, he's done it before. Remember Michael Spencer?"  
"No..."  
"Exactly. And I'll be gone to, if I refuse."  
"Hmmm...you don't want to lose this work, right? Wrestling's been good to you."  
"Yeah. And if I try to walk out on him, he'll just have more evidence to back his claims up."  
"But you can't go in and break Chris' leg!"  
"I know, I know. If it comes down to the wire, I'll tell Titus off, and leave. Maybe, if I get some witnesses, then they can deny anything he tells the media...but getting a different job is better than sabotage."  
"I never had any idea that Titus was like this. How can I go to the show this Saturday to perform if I know I'm working for a crook?"  
"Maybe...maybe I can do the spot, but say I screwed up. I can say that I thought I'd broken Chris' leg, but I was wrong, and...no, no, Titus can see through that. How can I not tell if I've broken a leg?"  
"Hold on...I just got an idea...you said something about getting witnesses?"  
"Yeah..."  
"How many people attend one of out shows?"  
"Like, maybe a thousand or so at some place like the Grand Hall."  
"How's one thousand witnesses sound for you?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"Remember Shane Douglas?"  
"Of course! How can you forget someone like him?"  
"Remember back in '93 when he won that big title? He threw it down and declared his title the real championship. He totally changed the face of wrestling."  
"What are you getting at...?"  
"I know a way you can get out of this, and still keep your jobs. And you'll give the fans their money's worth..."  
  
Saturday evening. Scott arrived at the arena a few hours before showtime. It was a few hours earlier than he normally arrived, but he had to be prepared. Just as with the week before, Scott walked through the back door. No Val to meet him there. She was in the women's locker room. Scott went to the men's and started to put his things up.  
Chris Parceles was a little later this week than the last. Still, he perked up when he saw Scott, who was just putting his shiny black vest on.  
"Hey, Scott!" Chris said, smiling. He went to a locker a little ways down the line. "You're early again. Gotta be ready for the match, though, right?"  
"Yep," Scott said. He'd called Chris up on Wednesday and they'd planned the match out. He noticed that Chris had a notepad with words scribbled on it. Scott had one, too. They wanted to get this perfect.  
"It's gonna be a good one," Chris cheerfully announced. "Everyone's going to love it...until the end, of course."  
"Yeah."  
"Don't worry about me, Scott. I'm not scared. You probably think I am, but I'm not. I'm ready to go with the show. I'm going to sell it like they'll need to remove my leg!"  
"Right..."  
"Say, Scott, you said on the phone that you had something big planned for the end...what is it? A new move?"  
"Nah. It's a secret. Can't tell anyone."  
"Oh, got it. This is going to be great!"  
"Chris?"  
"Yeah?"  
"You...you want to sit down and pray with me? I mean, if you don't, that's fine. But I feel like I should pray about this match...to make sure nothing goes wrong..."  
"Cool, sure! I always pray before matches. I pray that I won't break my neck, or anyone else's!" He chuckled and sat next to Scott they both folded their hands and closed their eyes.  
"God," Scott began, "tonight's a big night for both me and Chris. I pray that you can watch over us, so that neither of us gets seriously hurt. I pray that we can both leave this match...and the big surprise after it...with a sense of fulfillment and joy. Thank you, God, for all you've done..."  
Chris stopped Scott before the "Amen," and then began to pray in Spanish. Scott didn't understand what Chris was saying, but he went along with it anyway. Finally, Chris said, "Amen."  
"What did you pray about?" Scott asked, raising his head.  
"I thanked Him for answering all my prayers and watching over me when I have matches. You know, He even protected me once in Mexico during a cage match. I slipped and fell off the top to the outside."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah. But a fake table broke my fall. I didn't even know the table was there! It was weird, but I lived. And I didn't lose my ability to wrestle...well, I did go to the hospital for a short time, but I survived it and came back."  
"Mexico, huh? I've kind of wanted to go there and wrestle sometime. How is it?"  
"Pretty crazy stuff they do there, you know. Most people wear masks and stuff. I used to be called Blackhole Son. It was like that song by Soundgarden, you know? Only with the 'o' instead of the 'u.'"  
"That's cool. You and I should...you know, go down there sometime. Arena Mexico. We can tag team."  
"Really? You think so? Wow...that would be like going home...okay, we'll have to do that. You have a passport?"  
"I can get one."  
"Yeah, okay. Just like good buddies, we'll go down there and show what you can learn from wrestling in America! But, we've got to get through this match first, right?"  
"Right. And the surprise."  
"We'll make it. God willing."  
"Yeah...God willing."  
  
"Ladies and Gentlemen!" The announcer spoke clearly into the microphone. "It is now time...for your main event of the evening!" The fans cheered. "A special challenge by the Shadow Master; a hardcore, no rules, falls-count-anywhere match between two rivals who's feud has heated up in the course of one week. This will be their first match; and it may very well be one man's last. Are you prepared...for the main event?" The fans cheered again. "Then LET'S ROCK AND ROLL!" That was the IRW announcer's catch phrase. He tried his best to rival Michael Buffer with his voice tones, but he was more of a soprano  
"Introducing first...he hails from Ponce, Puerto Rico..." Chris Parcele's music began to play, and he slowly stepped through the curtain, selling a focused and determined look. He eyed the crowd, looking back and forth at each side. The announcer continued, "Here is 'Carcrash' Chris Parceles!"   
The fans gave a loud round of applause for one of their favorite lucha-style high flyers. Chris was one of the few wrestlers in IRW who utilized that style, and it had made him an instant hit. His entrance music blared over the PA system in the arena as he leaped over the top rope and landed on his feet in the ring. He quickly ran over to the ropes in front of him, jumped onto the second, and did a backflip, landing on his feet in the middle of the ring, and almost taking the referee out. His playing to the fans paid off with cheers and applause.  
The announcer raised the microphone to his lips as the music died. "And now, introducing his opponent...he hails from across the state in Kansas City, Missouri..." the Shadow Master's theme song faded in and the fans began to boo and hiss. Their disapproval for the man about to enter the ring sounded like that of a cow who just got kicked. Donned in his black mask, shiny black vest, cutoff blue jeans, right hand-only biker glove, and boots with skulls on the sides, the Shadow Master stepped through the curtain. He raised his arms in the air as if he was expecting the fans' approval. They continued to boo him. His gesture suddenly turned into the "up yours" sign, and he began to argue with a fan as the announcer finished the introduction, "Here is...the Shadow Master!"  
The jeers grew even louder at the mention of Scott Shadows' ring name. He casually entered the ring and mimicked being a fan favorite. His imitations halted when he locked eyes with Chris. Under the mask, Scott remembered the accidental chair shot from the week before. Back then, he was almost ready to tear Chris' head off for performing an unrehearsed spot. He wasn't that man anymore. And he was going to prove it...after the match.  
Chris, who had been crouching in a waiting position, stood and walked to the center of the ring. He and the Shadow Master went face-to-face. However, since Chris was a little shorter than his opponent, the Shadow Master bend down and made a scene of it. He looked Chris in the face and mocked him for his size. Chris shoved the Shadow Master, who, in such an awkward position, had no choice but to fall back into a seated position. In an angered fashion, he quickly rushed to his feet and shoved Chris down, putting the force of his movement behind the push. Chris fell backwards, but rolled in a backwards somersault. He didn't stand immediately, but took a knee and eyed his enemy. The Shadow Master used his hands to gesture, "Bring it on." 


	3. Chapter 3

Chris stood again, and the two met in the middle once more. The ref stood back, waiting for the tensions to flare, just like the fans, who had "ooo'd" the previous exchange. After a few moments, the Shadow Master sent the first shot; a quick jab to Chris's face. Chris staggered a little, holding his nose. The Shadow Master then showed how much he respected his opponent by slapping him across the right side of his face. Chris spun around, and an angered expression grew. He turned and sent a blow to the Shadow Master. Shadow responded in kind. They brawled, sending overhand and underhand punches to each other. Shadow pushed ahead, and soon sent Chris through the middle ropes. Chris tumbled to the outside, where there were no mats.  
The Shadow Master stepped onto the apron and hopped off, nailing a double ax handle shot to Chris's back as he tried to stand. Chris was down on one knee, and the Shadow Master sent a concrete-style fist to Chris' head, and Chris went down again. As he pushed himself up with his hands, the Shadow Master went to the guard rail and retrieved the first weapon, a chair that he had to steal from a frightened man in the front row. He turned around and sent slammed the chair into Chris' back. He looked around at the crowd, then did it again while Chris was laying on his stomach.  
Shadow picked Chris up from the concrete floor and leaned him against the ring apron. He turned to the crowd behind him and signaled that he was ready to use the chair again, then turned back to Chris and swung an over head shot. Chris dodged out of the way, and the chair caught the canvas' edge. Now what Chris' first chance; he sent a quick right jab of his own to the Shadow Master's face, catching him by surprise. The Shadow Master still clung to his chair, though, prompting Chris to send a boxing-like flurry of right and left jabs, swift and speedy, right to the nose area. When the Shadow Master got a sneaky boot into Chris' midsection, he thought the ball was back in his court, and raised the chair. Chris blocked, though, using both hands to grab the gray metal instrument of destruction and halt it in the air. He dropkicked the Shadow Master in the knee, forcing him to let go of the chair and fall.   
He didn't fall face first onto the concrete, but swerved so that his shoulder took the brunt. He held onto his leg as Chris swung the chair at his back. After the shot, he held onto his back. Chris used the top of the chair to tap Shadow's leg. He went back and forth, hitting the back, then the leg, for a couple times, just to make the fans laugh at the Shadow Master's plight. Then he pulled his opponent back up and dropped the chair.  
Chris whipped Shadow into the guard rail. Shadow rammed back-first into it. He raised his head back, but refused to scream. Chris picked the chair back up and threw it at his opponent. Shadow moved out of the way, and the fans scampered from the loud crash of the chair onto the railing. Shadow staggered around the ring. Chris snatched the ring bell from the timekeeper and perused. When he caught up, though, he found that the Shadow Master had simply been playing possum, as he kicked backwards into Chris' stomach when he sensed his presence.  
The Shadow Master grabbed Chris, who had bent over, by the hair. He looked around at the crowd that hated him, and fired a right into Chris' head, but refused to let go. The referee wanted to force a break, but it was no DQ, and he had no option. Another shot to the head. And another. Now a slam into the apron. Another. Shadow Master grabbed Chris' head and forced Chris to face him. He yelled something incoherent to everyone else, except to maybe a couple people in the front row, and kicked Chris below the belt. Chris moaned as the fans booed.   
Shadow Master rolled Chris under the bottom rope and into the ring. He climbed onto the apron, paused to yell something spiteful to the crowd, then swung over the rope and hit a leg drop. He quickly followed with the first cover of the match, but barely got a two-count. He stood, pulling Chris with him. Whip into the ropes, big boot to Chris' jaw. Shadow fell down on top of Chris for a cover, but still only a two. He pulled Chris up again and went for the same move again. Chris ducked under the kick and slid under the ropes when he met them. Now on the outside, Chris tried to take a breather.  
The Shadow Master wasn't up for that idea, however, and ran into the opposite ropes, came back, and dove over the top with a suicide "plancha", a simple flying body attack, coming down right on top of Chris. The fans had never seen a high flying move of this sort from the most hated wrestler on the Indy circuit. They were shocked, and it showed. Some actually applauded.  
It took a few moments for both men to get to their feet. Shadow Master beat Chris up, and tried to punch him back down. Chris fired back with shots to Shadow's stomach. Shadow kicked him in the gut, then attempted to whip him into the apron. Chris used his momentum to leap up onto the apron, however. He glanced at his opponent, kicked him back to stun him, then nailed a beautiful springboard corkscrew moonsault, similar to the Asai Moonsault, or backflip splash, but with a twist...literally. Both men were down again, but Chris had landed in a manner where his opponent's body had broken his fall. He stood as quickly as possible, then yanked the guardrail towards him, making as much room between the front row of seats and the railing as possible. The fans scattered.  
The Shadow Master struggled to his feet, shaking off the effects of the previous two "high spots." Chris grabbed him and tossed him over the railing, then quickly slid into the ring. He took a quick look to see that his target was standing, then ran to the ropes, came back, jumped onto the top rope, and flew through the air, hitting his opponent with a suicide senton, front flip. The fans cheered wildly for their resident luchadore. Chris stood and absorbed the adolations. He then grabbed his enemy from the floor and began to drag him through the crowd.  
On the way, the Shadow Master regained his strength, and elbowed Chris's ribs a couple times. He grabbed a nearby chair and used it on Chris' back. Chris fell, holding his lower back, a look of pain on his tired face. Shadow Master grabbed Chris by his hair again and began dragging him in the same manner as he himself had been towed. He stopped by the wall that went up to the higher seats, straightened Chris, and nailed him with a stiff chair shot to the head. He tossed the chair aside and made the cover. The referee, who had been following them, slid across the concrete as he went to count. One...two...NO! Chris got the left shoulder up.  
Shadow was frustrated by now, and he picked is opponent up, then hit a stiff right to prove it. He slammed Chris into the wall, then pulled him along, stopping at a certain area, where a large hallway opened and led out into the concession areas. Shadow kicked Chris again, then hooked him up for a vertical suplex. His first attempt at lifting Chris failed, as Chris blocked it. Chris blocked the second attempt, as well, prompting Shadow to punch him in the side a few times. His third attempt appeared to be successful, until Chris twisted out in midair and landed behind his attacker. Shadow spun around to meet Chris' fist in his face. Chris punched and kicked the Shadow Master back into the wall, then whipped him into the seats next to them. Shadow stumbled and fell when he tripped on the first metal chair.   
The fans kept their distance and cheered. They began to cheer even louder when they noticed where Chris was going. He was ascending the nearest stairway that took him up to a different section of seating. He found his way to the corner, overlooking his fallen opponent, who was trying to untangle himself from the pile of chairs he was stuck in. Chris stepped over the railing that kept the fans from falling, thus defeating the purpose. As the audience cheered and rallied behind him, Chris awaited the Shadow Master, who finally stood and began throwing chairs away from his person, unaware of the vulture eyeing him. The fans nearest him pointed to Chris, hoping to make the Shadow Master look and prompt the spot to happen. Shadow did look, and Chris dove from his perch, legs outstretched, hands over the back of his head to guard him. He caught the Shadow Master with an eye-popping "Hurricanrana", wrapping his legs around the Shadow Master's neck, swinging around and causing the Shadow Master to flip and land on his back.  
A huge pop echoed through the building, and fans who had left to go to the bathroom or food stands cursed themselves for doing so. The two bruised and beaten combatants laid on the concrete. "Carcrash" Chris had sure created a scene that lived up to his nickname. Not a butt was in a seat, as everyone was applauding, even the large group at the other end who had no idea what had happened. They all hoped to get a videotape of the match later.  
After what seemed like forever to anyone watching, Chris, still holding his head, staggered to his feet. He was barely able to stand, let alone walk, but he brought himself to it somehow. The referee was checking on the Shadow Master, seeing if he was even breathing. Chris ignored the ref and pulled his opponent to his feet, then slowly led him back to the ring area. He threw him over the railing, then followed, slowly. Hardly knowing he was doing so, he flung a chair into the ring, then rolled the Shadow Master under the bottom rope. He then climbed up on the apron and hit an over the rope "corkscrew" splash. The ref slid into the ring and counted...one...two...and the Shadow Master kicked out at two-and-seven-eigths!  
Chris rolled to his back, unable to follow up. His leap of faith had taken more out of him than his opponent. Had he gone for the cover earlier, he would have more than likely won the match. Alas, mistakes happen.  
Both men were worn out by now. The Shadow Master knew that it was about time for the finish, and he wobbled as he stood. He dropped an elbow across Chris' chest, causing him to lay almost totally motionless. Had he not been breathing so heavily, the fans would have thought he was dead.  
The Shadow Master climbed out of the ring and grabbed another chair. He held it up for the crowd to see. Some cheered, some boo'd. The Shadow Master took the chair into the ring, then crawled over to Chris and wrapped it around his left leg. He then grabbed the other chair that was already lying in the ring. He stood and held it up, then pointed to the chair that trapped Chris' leg. Shadow ascended the turnbuckle furthest from Chris, still clutching the chair, ready to leap across the ring and end the match...and Chris' career.  
The Shadow Master was perched on the top. Chris wasn't moving. There was only one way this was going to end. Everyone saw it coming...or did they? The masked man on the turnbuckle suddenly rotated his body to face away from the ring. He had one foot on the top rope, and one on the middle, balancing himself. He held the chair in both hands. He gave it a long hard look. Then, to the shock of everyone, he suddenly rammed his own head into the chair and took a freefall off the ropes, landing on his back in the center of the ring.  
The referee jumped backwards, keeping his eyes on the man who had just knocked himself off the turnbuckle. Chris sat up, suddenly breaking character. He was still breathing heavily, still tired, but he had to know what was going on. Wasn't he supposed to lose? Maybe Scott had slipped...maybe he was legitimately hurt and couldn't continue? He pulled his leg from the chair and crawled over to his fallen "opponent," trying to see through the black mask. He couldn't; but he did hear something.  
"Pin me, Chris," Scott was saying. "Do it. I told you I had a big surprise, and it won't work unless you pin me."  
Chris was confused. He didn't know what to do. Scott didn't want to wait. He reached up and grabbed Chris by his tanktop, yanking him down on top of him. The ref, possibly more confused than anyone in the building, got down on his stomach, watching the shoulders of the Shadow Master. He raised his hand and slammed it down on the mat once, then twice, and finally a third and final time. He got up on his knees and signaled for the timekeeper to ring the bell. He did, since he'd retrieved it when the two opponents had gone into the crowd. The ring announcer, however, decided to converse with the referee in the ring, as opposed to announcing Chris as the winner.  
Chris got up on his knees as the Shadow Master sat quickly. He then stood and walked to the announcer, asking him for his microphone. The announcer, also not knowing what to do, got the mic snatched from his grip. The Shadow Master went and sat on the top rope of the nearest turnbuckle, watching the fans, seeing if he could find the bewildered looks on their faces. He knew they were there.  
The man under the mask looked down at Chris, who met his gaze. He looked up to the entrance, where the curtains separated the fictional storylines the fans saw from the real people in the back. Finally, he looked straight ahead. He lifted his left hand, grabbed the top of his black, featureless mask, and pulled the whole thing from his head. The crowd gasped, despite the fact that they didn't recognize the face as anyone in particular.  
Scott Shadows, revealed for the crowd to see, brought the microphone to his mouth. "Is this thing on?" he asked into it. "Hey, sound guy, turn it up. I've got an important announcement to make." Scott waited for a moment, then tapped the mic to see if it was louder. For some reason, the sound guys had actually cranked up the volume.  
"All right," Scott continued, watching everyone that moved. "I'll bet you're all wondering what on Earth is going on here...well, I'll tell you. You see, there's a guy in the back, and I know he's here. It ain't a wrestler, it ain't some TV personality. It's probably not anyone anybody here has ever really seen. But he runs the whole show here at IRW, and I've got a message for him, if he's listening. Titus Stewart...you are a crook! You are a liar and a cheater and a disgrace to the wrestling world, if not the entire world!"  
The no one who was listening, sans Valerie Said and Titus himself, who were in the back, had any idea what was taking place. "Titus, if you're still here, I'm hoping that you don't mind if I let everyone in on a little secret of ours. Because, you see, you were a little too greedy when it came to your promotion, and you wanted everything you could get that would make it the best on the planet, and you didn't care who got in the way, you'd annihilate them like a tank. Good old Chris Parceles here," Scott nodded to Chris, who remained still, "is just trying to make a living by doing what he's good at. You want to go sign Marty Thriller, a big name out here, but Marty doesn't want to work with Chris. So, you decide that it's better to destroy Chris' future than not gain a profit on Thriller.  
"Ladies and gentlemen, I am ashamed to tell you that I was in on Titus' plan the whole time. Titus has given me more fame and press with all his money. Well, I don't need money to make you famous, Titus. I'll make you famous by telling everyone that iyou/i hired me to break Chris' leg in this match so that you could bring up a clause in his contract and fire him after he was out for a month!" The fans gasped again. They didn't know if this was a true story, or just an angle. Either way, it was interesting...  
"Then you could hire Marty Thriller and make more money than ever, because that's all that matters to you. You don't care about anyone here, any of the boys in the back. I'm just here to do your dirty work and lie about it. Well, I refuse! I'm not going to do anyone's dirty work anywhere!"  
By now, Titus himself had come through the curtain and was standing at the entranceway, watching Scott with anger.  
"Well, well, there's our man now," Scott said, pointing in Titus' direction. "It's all true, isn't it, Titus? You wanted me to do your evil deeds so that you could make more money. You wanted me to jeopardize someone's career, and pretend it was a mistake?"  
Titus had a microphone of his own. "Shadows, you son of a..."  
"Uh-uh-uh, Titus...there are children present!"  
"You want to turn your back on me? You want to play hardball? I'm going to make your life a living hell! You won't get away with this, you traitor!"  
"Congradulations, boss-man," Scott said, smiling. "You're admitting to it, then? You're admitting to your crimes?"  
Titus didn't answer, but instead said, "You are a dead man, Shadows! You're dead!"  
"Dead? No, I don't think so. I am alive in Christ, and actions like yours have no place in His world! You want to try and jeopardize people? I'll give you a Jeopardy answer: the five cops about to surround you. The question? Who did I call and tip-off before I came to the show tonight?"  
All of a sudden, five police officers, accompanied by Valerie, came out from the curtain and gathered around Titus. "There's your man, officers," Val said.  
"Excuse me, sir, but we're going to have to bring you down to the station for questioning," one of the policemen said, putting his hand on Titus' shoulder.  
"You let me go!" Titus yelled, jerking away. "You have nothing on me! You can't prove anything!"  
"Actually, sir, we have this video tape, which contains the entire conversation you had with Mr. Shadows a few weeks ago," another cop held up the video cassette. "I think that's enough evidence, don't you?"  
"Wha...?!?" Titus couldn't believe it. The five officers cuffed him and escorted him from the building.  
"Bye bye, birdie," Scott called. He hopped off the turnbuckle and walked over to Chris. "Folks, I think the IRW is going to be on hold for quite some time. Thanks for coming to the show. I hope you enjoyed it. Me, I'm gone. Let's go, Chris." With that, he tossed the mic to the perplexed announcer on the outside. Then, putting his arm around Chris' shoulder, he escorted his friend out of the arena. They met Val at the entrance, and the three left together.  
  
The news was all over it the next day. "PRO WRESTLER RATS OUT PROMOTER." "Professional wrestler Scott Shadows (AKA the Shadow Master) calls the police on his employer in the nearby Intensity Rulz Wrestling federation, accusing his boss of trying to make him cripple his opponent for the night, Christopher Parceles. Police took Titus Stewart into custody after receiving a video tape that showed the entire conversation between he and Shadows. Shadows was later brought in for questioning, but released soon afterwards. The IRW is currently seeking new ownership..."  
Chris looked up from the paper. He and Scott sat on the couch in Valerie's apartment. Val sat on the floor, flipping through the television channels, and stopping at every news show that mentioned the incident.  
"I still can't believe it," Chris said, looking at Scott. "You were actually going to do that to me?"  
"As much as I hate to say it, yes," Scott replied. He set his cup of coffee down on the table next to his side of the couch. "Titus wanted me to break your leg so that Marty Thriller would be willing to work for him. He told me Thriller was mad at you for some drunk driving incident that put him in the hospital..."  
"Marty Thriller? You were talking about him, then. Yes, I remember him...but I've never driven drunk in my life!"  
"That's what he told Titus. He said that you'd gotten drunk and wouldn't let him have the keys, and you crashed the car. He got hurt badly and couldn't get hired by ECW after it."  
"Are you talking about the time that he got drunk and drove the car? Because there was one time that he got drunk, and I didn't notice it...we were just leaving a bar after doing a show in Mexico. It was, like, five years ago. He crashed the car. Is he blaming me now?"  
"I guess so," Scott replied, sounding relieved. "Dude must be too proud to admit he made a big mistake. It would've cost him if someone had found out." Scott turned to Valerie. "Hey, Val...the cops say that they have a video tape of me and Titus...but I don't recall Titus having a security camera or anything like that in his office..."  
"Me, neither," Val responded, not turning around. "I don't know where they got it, either. Maybe he had a hidden camera, but he didn't remember or something?"  
"...Well, maybe...ah, what does it matter? The fact is, we aren't under his control anymore. God's our boss from now on. My friends, we are officially free agents."  
"Where do we go now?" Chris asked, lying the paper down between himself and Scott.  
"I got in touch with a guy in Mexico City," Scott said. "He runs a promotion down south of the border. He told me that they'd welcome any 'big name' American talent, and he called me 'big name.' I talked him into my bringing a few friends."  
"So we are going to do it?" Chris asked, as if he couldn't believe that Scott would live up to his word.  
"Oh, yeah. 'Carcrash' Chris Parceles debuts in Mexico City in a month, my friend, with Shadow Master and Emerald in tow. How's it sound?"  
"It's perfect," Chris said. "Just like old times...only with new friends! I'll need to get my old lucha uniform! I can wear it without the mask, and maybe someone will remember me."  
"I'm game, Scott," Val said. "Never been to Mexico before."  
"How's about we get a jump on the culture, then?" Scott inquired. "Casa de Marcos just opened a few blocks from here. Who's hungry?"  
"Sounds good to me," Val said, turning off the TV and standing.  
"Okay, but you supply the newspaper for the car."  
"What?"  
"It's a joke. You know, about your transforming...you didn't think I'd forget about that, did you?"  
"No, but I don't get the joke. Newspaper?"  
"So the dog doesn't get the car messy and stuff! Jackals are dogs, right?"  
"What are you guys talking about?" Chris asked. As Val and Scott argued, he decided to just get his coat and wait. 


End file.
